


Forecast

by twowritehands



Series: Destiel [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Flashbacks, Humor, M/M, brother moments, caught-in-the-act
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam isn't an idiot. He can read the signs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forecast

One thing Sam knows about his brother: Dean gets cocky when he’s out for tail.

Sam has seen it a million times; it’s a show he grew up watching. By now Dean has mastered piling on the flirt with nothing but a twitch in the corner of his mouth, a sweep of his eyes, a subtle compliment in a voice pitched just a notch lower than his usual speaking voice.

It works. Sam has to admit, it works. His brother tempts a steady stream of gorgeous, confident women into his bed. And not all super model skinny, either. Sam’s caught glimpses of healthy sized women and even some cushioned ones, all of them lit up with this great kind of inner beauty Dean has this natural way of bringing out in girls.

Dean’s a pro, and growing up with that for a role model is the only reason Sam landed Jess in the first place. (Sam keeps meaning to thank his brother for the guidance, but that’s one of the chick moments Dean would thank him to avoid, so it never happens.)

Another thing Sam knows about his brother: Dean gets grouchy whenever he has a secret that Sam is about to sniff out. He tends to snap warnings, to grumble insults, to abruptly change the subject, to treat Sam like the little boy he outgrew about 4 shoes sizes ago. He throws up walls and sends out thorny spears all hung with signs that say Stay Away. Not for Little Baby Sammy to Concern Himself With. Sam wishes Dean can be more comfortable sharing. But no, taking too much after Dad, Dean tends to bottle things and not say a peep until he’s pressed in a corner and has to talk or die.

Right now the secret Dean believes he keeps has to do with his love life, and Sam’s not an idiot. He knows exactly what Dean’s hiding. He’s seen the sideways looks. The tried-to-hide-that smirks. The odd stammer or two. The out of nowhere faint blushes. For dudes.

Dean is bi-sexual and doesn’t want Sam to know, for some reason. But, oh, Sam knows.

Sam knows that when Dean’s cruising for male-tail, he doesn’t get cocky, he gets bashful and unsure; like that mountain of confidence he has with women just crumbles into dust. While Dean frequently picks up chicks right in front of Sam, often employing Sam as a wingman, Dean has never once done the same in regards to whatever dude he likes.

He usually tries to get rid of Sam altogether. Or to make excuses to remove himself from the scene if Sam won’t go. God forbid Sam try to make encouragements. A muscled young waiter’s eyes linger on Dean and Dean has a weird pitch in his voice as he orders, Sam might grin and say, “he’s nice,” at which point the teeth and claws come out, finely honed sarcasm brandishes like a silver dagger. Dean hardly looks around the joint as if to avoid catching sight of the waiter and at the end of the meal, the poor guy gets a shit tip as if Dean is trying to prove how unimpressed he is.

It is clear to Sam that Dean is ashamed of himself, his own natural urges, and it saddens Sam to think of this; just another way Dean suffers more than Sam for having lost their mother. Sam never knew her, but he likes to think Mary Winchester would know just want to say to make Dean realize it’s okay to be Dean.

“Bi-sexual, huh?” Sam nearly asks, on so many occasions. His instinct is to be casual like that. A simple, non-threatening, bi sexual, huh? Just to draw Dean out in the open and make him realize he doesn’t have to hide it. He doesn’t have to sneak. But Sam never says it. Guess he gets a little of that instinct to avoid the uncomfortable stuff from Dad, too.

It would be easy to say that it is Sam’s extensive college education, his pure heart, and some sensitivity training from the young woman he nearly married in his early twenties that has led him to realizing that Dean also sleeps with men. But no, Sam didn’t catch onto the subtle hints early on. The fact presented itself harshly to him one evening. One shocking evening.

The time had finally come for Sam to entice a woman into his bed—compared to Dean, Sam tended to live a monk’s life of study and meditation—but he’d been in the mood and scored after some beers. Out of convenience, he’d simply brought the girl back to the same motel and paid for a different room. He ended up with the room right next door to where Dean, he presumed at the time, was sleeping off a grueling demon hunt. But oh how wrong he’d been.

Sam had finished the deed winning all the marathon trophies and had hoped in the shower to rinse away the sweat. When he returned, he found his date sitting against the headboard, blushing and laughing into her palm. “Oh my god!” she said to him, “There are two guys fucking really hard right on the other side of this wall!”

“Nice,” he scoffed at her, picturing her with her pretty black hair flipped over a shoulder and her ear pressed to the wall. But a moment later that same wall shuddered with the thumping of the bedframe from next door, and deep guttural groans—distinctly two, harmonizing in this erotically low pitch—sounded from through the tacky wallpaper. One of them was far breathier than the other as it canted, “fuck, fuck, fuck, keep goooiiiiingah-ah-ah-ah!”

Mainly because it made the girl look so amused, this whole thing to Sam was, while deeply unsettling, humorous in this weird kinky way right up until—Oh god. Sam realized that wall was part of his original room in this motel. Where Sam had left Dean. That was Dean’s room. Where Dean was now! Instantly Sam’s brain attempted to correct the error feed with the simple solution that Dean must have had an emergency reason to check out and that these man-whores had come in behind him, but no. Nope. Credibility denied.

Because now he could hear it: that voice that was low, breathy, panting for more cock. That voice was definitely his big brother. Bottoming. Begging for the cock in his ass to go harder and deeper.

“Shit,” Sam covered his ears and the words fell from his lips, “That’s so fucking gross!”

His date—so mirthful a moment ago—changed. Her shoulders slumped. Her smile dropped. Her eyes flashed fiery. “You have a problem with gay guys? Insecure much?” Following this he got some clothes thrown in his face with some colorful--and frankly far reaching--accusations and then she was gone.

Well, he got what he wanted out of her, right? So who cared? (Moments like these Sam reached for the cold hearted demon-blood-drinking-Sam he’d found when Dean was dead, rather than face the rejection, okay? He’s not perfect.)

Attempting to shut out the ohs and fuck yeahs and endless, erratic thumping, Sam dressed and promptly left the room and, well, almost the entire state. But he didn’t. Because in behind the shock came recollections of things he’d dismissed: odd lingering looks or weird uncalled for laughter at some guy’s joke. Within half an hour of escaping the frighteningly vivid noises, Sam had come to terms with it.

But to date he hasn’t come clean to Dean about knowing.

He worries a little sometimes. Is Dean being safe? Is he being tested regularly? What kinds of guys does he bone—or gets boned by? Sam had never so much as caught a glimpse of any of Dean’s “secret” conquests. But he knows it happens every couple of weeks or so.

The signs are all there when Dean’s hurting with that kind of need, the bashfulness in hot-guy company, the grouchiness when alone and Sam shows curiosity. And then, always following a night when Dean has separated himself from Sam entirely, Dean starts a day bright eyed and bushy tailed with this weird good humor seemingly coming from nowhere. If Sam tries to comment, Dean mentions that he got some good sex but he doesn’t offer details. And that’s the big tell.

You see, when it’s with girls, there are always details.

Sam’s grateful not to get these specifics, because he got plenty that first awful night of enlightenment. Sure, he can’t assume every one of Dean’s gay escapades go that same way--maybe Dean switches it up and tops sometimes--but due to the nature of Sam’s discovery and the way Dean seems to turn into a blushing bride around handsome men, well, Sam is inclined to believe Dean only ever turns to cock when he needs a good old fashion reaming like a dime store hooker.

(He prays that Dean’s not paying for male escorts. Or charging truckers for his time. Surely not.)

So, yeah, Sam knows, and yeah Sam’s okay with it, and yeah, Sam wishes his brother could be okay with it, too. It’s the never ending problem at work at the back of Sam’s head. How to make Dean feel okay with himself. How? How? Once or twice, he entertains the idea of bringing Cas into this, asking the angel to tell the hunter that some man-on-man action has, like, the green light from upstairs or something.

Not that Sam for a moment thinks any of Dean’s reservations are religiously based. It’s just that Dean usually responds to Cas. Something about that angel makes Dean go all—

“Holy shit.” Sam sits up straighter in the passenger seat, eyes round while facts click into place.

“What?” Dean asks from behind the wheel.

“Wha—?” Sam blinks around at his brother and flounders for a lie, “Oh, uh. Nothing. Just—bad dreams.”

Dean frowns at him, “You weren’t asleep.”

“Yeah I was,” Sam flat lies. Dean gives him this long sideways look.

Sam is trying not to smile.

“Dude, seriously, what’s the joke?”

Sam deliberates—and takes the dive. “It’s Cas isn’t it?”

“What’s Cas?” Dean asks.

“The guy you sleep with sometimes. It’s Cas.”

The Impala slows way down and Dean tries to laugh, “Man, what have you been smoking—“

“You don’t have to lie, Dean. I’ve heard you two at it before. I see the way you—Just trust me, okay? You don’t have to lie.”

“You heard?” Dean asks, wide-eyed. “When?”

Sam shrugs, “That time in De Moise. I took my date to the room right next door. You got sorta loud. Well, very loud, actually. Didn’t realize it was Cas, but it was, wasn’t it? That’s why I never see you picking the guys up, never seen them coming or going. It’s just one guy and he wings in and wings out doesn’t he? After I’m gone?”

Dean is blushing worse than Sam has ever seen on his brother’s angled features. Sam chuckles and thumps the man on the arm, “Hey, Dean, seriously. It’s totally cool with me—I mean it’s kind of bizarre to think of Cas doing anything like that but—“

“Whoa. Hey. What the hell does that mean? It’s weird to picture Cas doing that stuff but not me?”

“Well,” Sam shrugs. To be honest he’s had more time to accept Dean in this role. Until precisely 2 minutes ago, Sam has always failed to think of Cas as owning any sexual organs at all, let alone using them. On Dean.

“Fanfreakingtastic,” Dean growls and he’s angry. Like, pissed. He pulls the car over, gets out and paces down the shoulder of the road. Sam hurries to follow, squinting in the sunlight.

“He’s an angel of the freaking lord, Dean, excuse me for being surprised that he’s sticking it to you!”

Dean stops walking and turns slowly. Sam realizes his phrasing might not have been sensitive enough for the situation at hand. Dean blinks at Sam like he’s looking at a monster and his advance is not a little bit threatening. His eyebrows are up, and he might as well be holding the demon blade, “But it doesn’t surprise you that I bend over, is that it?”

The imagery—coming from the source, so taken as gospel truth—causes Sam to blanch with a grimaced, “Ah, dude, come on.”

“See?” Dean throws his arms up to the heavens. “I knew it! I knew you’d be disgusted BUT NOT SURPRISED. Just like Dad.”

Sam scoffs in acute offense, as he always does whenever anyone tries to say he is anything like John Winchester.  But a moment later, the implication of the words causes him to frown, “Like Dad? Dean, what the hell? Dad’s been dead for years.”

Dean, kicking at a lump of half dead grass, shakes his head and doesn’t answer. Sam closes some of the distance between them, “Were you going both ways even back then?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean allows Sam to see a glimpse of a deeply pained expression, teary eyes and a trembling lip, but he turns away. “There was this dumb magazine once. Dad saw it. Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sam huffs. “Dean, Dad was an asshole.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad because we’re gonna,” Sam grabs Dean’s shoulder to turn him around and a moment later Dean’s fist slams into Sam’ lip.

Instinct kicks in and they fight right there on the side of the road, the afternoon sun sliding behind the tips of the trees, traffic whizzing past them down the highway. They each get some good hits in, both of them hitting the ground at least once. Both of them getting blood on their knuckles and sliding down their chins.

“Dean, stop!” Sam cries, when he manages to slam Dean face down on the hood of the car. “Listen to me. I don’t care, okay? You’re my brother and you can like whatever you like!”

Dean stops struggling and Sam lets him go. They pace apart, nursing their wounds. Sam, not turning, gives a bitter kind of chuckle into the silence between them, “You’re a lot of things, Dean, but you’re not disgusting and you’re not—I don’t know—messed up. At least not in that way.”

This prompts a weary, bitter laugh from Dean, “It would be a stretch to say I’m not messed up at all, wouldn’t it?”

“Same can be said about both of us,” Sam returns. “But, liking guys? Having sex with them? That’s your business, Dean. And there’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry I brought it up like I did, I just couldn’t be quiet about it anymore.”

“So you’ve known this whole time?”

“Only since De Moise,” Sam answers, turning to face his brother. Dean slumps to sit against the front of the car. He dabs a sleeve at his lip.

“That is the whole time, Sammy. That’s when it started.”

“Really?” Sam asks. This is a surprise. That sex had sounded—well, not like a first time.

“Guess that’s why you heard us. Hadn’t learned how to be discrete about it.”

“So you’ve only been with Cas?” Something about it makes Sam smile. This big happy smile. He doesn’t know why; thinking of his brother’s secret life never before made him grin, even when he knew it made Dean happy.

Dean nods.

“That’s weird,” Sam says truthfully, “This whole time I thought it was random guys like you have random girls. But it’s only ever been one guy. The same guy. That’s—huge for you, man.”

Dean nods again, hands crammed in his coat pockets, eyes locked on the ground. “Yeah, well, so what? I’m not a big slut about it.”

“So what if you were?” Sam instantly shoots back with a laugh. What he’d heard had sounded pretty slutty.

“I wouldn’t do that to Cas,” Dean rasps, this raw look on his face. Sam realizes his brother is talking about legit fidelity.

“So you guys are really serious then?”

“Pretty damn,” Dean chuckles. “I mean, I crawled from hell for him and he tore down heaven for me so it’s about as serious as it gets.”

Shocked by the uncharacteristic bout of poetry, Sam pushes his hair from his face where passing traffic stirs it all around. All he can think to say is the same thing Dean said over the phone when Sam had announced, all those years ago, that Jess said she would marry him and the date was set for May. “Dude.”

Dean, though, is still crying. Sam’s humor dries up and with seriousness, Sam steps over to lean against the car beside Dean.

“Whatever Dad did or said, it died with him, okay? What matters is that you have Cas and he makes you happy.”

Dean’s sudden release of breath seems to be a wholehearted agreement to the happiness he has with Cas. Sam finds himself smiling again and suddenly eager to see the dorky angel whom he already considers part of the family but who is now much more intimately tied to them.

All at once, Sam is enveloped in Dean’s arms. Usually one of them has to have just died and came back for this kind of chest-against-chest for more than three seconds hug to happen. They clap each other on the back and, smiling, pull apart.

“I guess I should have told ya,” Dean says, a bit later when they are back in the car and on the road.

“Not my business.”

“Yeah but this is important to me, and you’re my brother. You told me about Jess.”

The fact that Dean ranks his relationship on the same level as what Sam had with Jess only makes him that much happier. “Where is Cas, anyway?”

“I don’t know. He’s busy.”

“No, I’m with you, which means he’s not allowed to show up unless he’s got serious work related stuff, am I right?”

Dean shrugs, “Whatever.”

“Well, tell him that’s over. He can come and go as you both please. I’m not going to cock block you anymore.”

 

Sam should have considered the blessing before he gave it.

Whenever Cas shows up in the backseat of the car, Dean pulls over and makes Sam get in the backseat. He has to sit back there, cramped, with his view of the highway completely obscured by Cas’ fathead because the angle doesn’t sit in the passenger’s seat. Oh no. He sits in the middle, snuggled up to Dean, forcing Sam to sit to the right if he wants to see where they are going. He can’t hear the music back here, he can’t hear conversation over the engine and the sounds of the armory rattling in the trunk. But he deals, because the one time he complained, Cas invited him to return to his seat. As in, three dudes riding like sardines. No thank you.

Also, every time they get a room, they barely unpack before the absent Cas wings in. The first time it happens, Sam is equal parts amazed and humored. Mostly because Cas’ entrances are no longer dorky. The moment he appears—rather than just standing there awkwardly until noticed—he smiles and gets ahold of Dean one way or another. Mostly he only touches Dean on the shoulder, but Sam sees once out of the corner of his eye, a touch to the waist which is uncomfortably sweet and never spoken of. Ever.

A few times Dean goes into the bathroom alone and comes out with Cas. Sam comes to prefer this kind of entrance because it offers them all a little more privacy. Cas is free to touch Dean wherever, Dean is free to react however, and Sam doesn’t have to feel like a third wheel.

The worst of it is when Sam wakes up in the middle of the night to find his brother shirtless and spooning a shirtless angel. Straight up male nudity. Okay, the sheet is always covering them. And they are usually always wearing shorts, but growing up in a family that sleeps in jeans and boots, this level of undress is just totally embarrassing. Sam grimaces and covers his eyes. “Ah, dude. Seriously?”

“Shut up,” Dean says, for lack of a better comeback.

“So you guys just boned right there with me in the room?” this is seriously the most uncomfortable Sam has ever felt, possession and the act of dying included, “I thought angels were supposed to have class.”

“We didn’t—“ Dean turns a shade of red Sam didn’t know he could reach out of anything but rage. “We don’t--”

Cas cuts in as if his nipples are not visible and he does not have sex hair. “You could not have woken under the power of my grace on your mind.”

Sam swallows a little wash of bile in his mouth and tries to make it more of a joke as he asks,  “So while you were groping my brother you were groping my brain?”

“Dammit, Sammy. Don’t say it like that!” Dean says roughly, pulling a face of agony. It sounds like he is losing his voice. Sam tries not to consider how loudly Dean must have got while testing the limits of the sleep spell holding Sam under. Yikes.

“It’s the truth isn’t it?” Sam bites back, annoyed by this onslaught on mental imagery forced on him first thing today, “A small part of his brain was focused on me while he was—“ He flaps a hand at their bed, unable to finish the sentence because he wants to stop picturing it.

Dean’s face pales and he glances at his angel boyfriend. “Ew.”

Cas’ eyes rock back and forth between them. “It’s a simple spell that takes no thought to hold. I can put Sam to sleep and forget about him for a hundred years.”

A smile squirms on Dean’s face and he glances at Sam. “Dude, he Rip Van Winkled you.”

Sam sighs. Unbelievable. Dean has to be pretty sick in love with this guy to let something like this slide. Hell, to have even agreed to do it in the first place.

“Can we just agree that you guys will find your own room from now on? I mean, how hard is that? You teleport for crying out loud.”

Dean looks sheepish and shrugs at Cas. “He’s got a point.”

Sam scoffs. Yeah he does.

Cas smiles at Dean in this way that gives Sam the comforting impression that last night had been low key and not like that thumping escapade that started all this three years ago. Sam frowns as he goes into the bathroom, combs his hair back from his face, and starts brushing his teeth. Has it really been three years? Damn. That is twice as long as he’d ever even known Jess. Which means this love has deeper and stronger roots than Sam can ever understand.

A week later, they finish a hunt and get a room—Dean insisting that he doesn’t need his own—and Sam is digging out a change of clothes from his duffle when Cas appears in the kitchenette.

Sam happens to see him first and Cas winks, puts a finger to his lips for secrecy. Dean hasn’t spotted him yet with his back turned as he digs through his bags. Sam is able to play it cool, but only just as Cas stands there like old times until Dean turns, startles, and then laughs. It makes Sam chuckle a little, and he wonders why it feels so good. Then he remembers that he can’t remember laughing.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean says brightly, moving toward the angel. They stop just inside cocktail distance, and stare at each other with huge smiles.

“What’s up, man?” Sam asks, before the eye-fucking can get any worse. Dean shakes it off and goes back to digging through his stuff.

“A new episode of Dr. Sexy is about to premiere on channel five. I thought you’d like to cuddle and watch it.” He says it like it isn’t the lamest idea in the world. Sam, making sure to keep his back turned, stifles a laugh.

“Uh,” Dean says and Sam just knows Dean is panicking. They haven’t shown PDA since the whole Rip Van Winkle debacle. Which is why Sam is willing to let this happen. Just because he doesn’t want to be in the room while they have sex does not mean he wants to be completely isolated from their relationship.

“Go ahead,” Sam assures casually as he heads to the little bathroom. “Keep it in your pants and I don’t care what you guys do.”

Sam lingers in the bathroom as long as he can without being weird. He comes out to find Cas, trench coat and all, prone across the quilt with Dean fitted beside him under one of Cas’ arms. Dean’s eyes cut to Sam and instantly hardened into a challenge. Sam keeps his face a cool mask.

“What feat of heroic medicine is Dr. Sexy accomplishing tonight, boys?” Sam asks instead.

“Shh!” Cas instantly hisses as Dean bats a hand with a quick, “Shut up.”

For the very first time in his life, Sam feels, while on the road, at home and part of a functioning family.


End file.
